


Better than Roses

by Philomytha



Category: Vorkosigan Saga - Lois McMaster Bujold
Genre: Bloodplay, M/M, Painplay
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-03-02
Updated: 2011-03-02
Packaged: 2017-10-16 01:28:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,020
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/166986
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Philomytha/pseuds/Philomytha
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ges takes Aral home after a brawl in a bar.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Better than Roses

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Lanna's prompt 'Aral/Ges, red becomes you'

There was blood welling from the long shallow cut along his shoulder. Aral watched it in dazed fascination. It made a slow track all the way along his arm, across the back of his hand, collecting stickily in the webs of his fingers and dripping onto the floor. He didn't remember how he'd got it, or when he had lost his shirt, or even, now, quite why he had been fighting with Takis Vorinnis and his friends in the first place--they'd been drinking together happily enough beforehand--but it didn't really matter now. He did remember Takis crumpled at his feet, just like they had after the duels, and even the vodka hadn't been enough to blot that image from his mind.

Ges eased him onto the sofa. Ges's apartment was so comfortable, he thought as he slumped gracelessly down, leaning his head back against the cushions. Much better than going back to Vorkosigan House and his father's disapproving frown. And he hadn't been back to their apartment--to her apartment--for over a year, not since...

"You shouldn't have made me leave," he grumbled to distract himself from his own thoughts. "It was a good bar. A good fight, too."

"The municipal guard were coming," Ges said placatingly. "They would have been an annoyance. But yes, it was a good fight." He sat down beside Aral, comfortably close and warm. "You fought like a demon. My very own demon."

Aral made a wild hissing noise through his teeth, and Ges laughed. Aral liked making him laugh, liked the way his head went back and his eyes crinkled and softened.

"I'm bleeding on your sofa," he pointed out after a moment, looking at the reddish spots on the fabric where his arm was slowly dripping. "Pity to spoil it."

"It's a badge of honour," Ges said. "Better than giving me roses or shit like that."

"I'd give you roses if you wanted them," Aral told him, drunkenly earnest. "I'd give you anything you wanted."

"I know." Ges placed a feather-light kiss on his lips, then leaned back, his expression thoughtful.

"It doesn't hurt," Aral said after a minute, watching the blood trickle slowly out. "You'd think it would. But I can't feel it at all." He closed his eyes, then opened them again. "I don't like it. It ought to hurt."

Ges hesitated, then touched one finger to the cut, right where it was deepest. "How about now?"

Aral shook his head, making the room tilt and spin. Watching his face, Ges pressed harder, and suddenly Aral could feel again, pain from the injury stabbing bluntly down his arm, driving out thought and memory more effectively than alcohol. He made a low sound, and Ges drew his bloodied finger back. The pain faded and his thoughts returned.

"No, don't--" Aral said, but Ges looked at him and then, slowly, delicately, licked Aral's blood from his finger. Aral watched his tongue, mesmerised. Then, unable to stop himself, he looked at the trail of blood along his arm. Ges followed his gaze, and he smiled.

The feel of Ges's mouth working up his arm made him shiver. Ges's breath was hot and made his skin prickle, and he traced his way up with exquisite slowness, chasing every drop and smear of blood. Aral forced himself to stay perfectly still, but he could hear his own heart pounding by the time Ges reached his shoulder. Then Ges scraped his teeth across the edge of the cut, and for a moment the pain of it whited his mind like sex.

"This," Ges said hoarsely, watching his reaction with wide eyes, "is a fucking brilliant idea."

In answer, Aral seized Ges urgently, pulling him closer, then kissed him, tasting his own blood in Ges's mouth, metallic and sour. Ges's hand curled around his head, thumb resting on the swelling bruise on his jaw, caressing it. His touch sent little shivers of pain through Aral even as the kiss brought him to full arousal, and the two sensations seemed to magnify each other, making his head swim. Abruptly Ges pressed down, and he bit Ges's lip involuntarily, but instead of pulling back, Ges pushed inwards, driving Aral back against the sofa, making him aware of every bruise he'd collected during the brawl.

Aral tasted blood again, but wasn't sure whose it was now. Ges straddled him, one hand unbuckling his belt, the other pushing him down. Aral struggled against him, not because he wanted to throw Ges off but because it made Ges press him harder, forcing him to be still, forcing him to feel. He fumbled with Ges's trousers in turn, but Ges knocked his hand away.

"No," Ges broke off to say, "no, don't touch me."

And Aral couldn't argue, because Ges was opening his trousers and bringing his mouth down on Aral's shoulder. Aral tensed in anticipation, and Ges bit him again as his hand began to move, and Aral shook. Pleasure and pain intertwined in his head, through his body, filling him completely, leaving no room for memory or grief or guilt or anything but timeless sensation. He could hear his own voice, rough and breaking, swearing and begging Ges not to stop, until he lost the power of speech and shuddered, agony and release together.

At last he lay back, limp and spent and suddenly too exhausted to even think about moving. Ges sprawled across him, a comfortable weight, one hand running smoothly over him, murmuring nonsense in French. Aral closed his eyes. Ges was never so gentle as at moments like these, and Aral wouldn't have accepted it at other times, but now he let Ges's tenderness bathe him. His mind was empty, a peaceful fog covering all his thoughts, aware of nothing beyond Ges's soothing touch, and he knew as he fell asleep that he would be free of nightmares tonight.

When he woke the next day, aching and sore with a pounding headache, he was alone in Ges's bed, and there was a neat white bandage on his shoulder, and a rose on the pillow beside him.


End file.
